Classic Poem

She is bravest and best of a cursed race —
Give her a lodge on the mountain side,
And, when she is gone, on a hill provide
The Queen of the Utes' last resting place.

She rode where old Ouray dare not ride —
A path through the wilderness, rough and wild,
She rode to plead for woman and child —
She rode by the yawning chasm's side;

She rode on the rocky, fir-clad hill
Where the panther mewed and the crested jay
Piped echoless through the desert day —
She rode in the valleys dark and chill.

Oh, such a ride as woman can —
By the Godlike pow'r that in her lies,
Or an inspiration from the skies —
Achieve for woman and son of man.

They live, and thro' the country wide —
Where'er they come, where'er they go,
Though their hairs grow white as the wintry snow —
They will tell of brave Chipeta's ride!

She is bravest and best of a cursed race —
Give her a lodge on the mountain side,
And, when she is gone, on the hill provide
The Queen of the Utes' last resting place.

But give her a page in history, too,
Though she be rotting in humble shrouds,
And write on the whitest of God's white clouds
Chipeta's name in eternal blue.